Accidental Reverse
by A Nordic Niche
Summary: Norway, has it ever occured to you and your overly-advanced mind that you should check if you're saying the right spell before you cast it? Now poor Sealand and Ladonia are stuck with you and your little- VERY little- Nordic buddies! And even if they think they can handle it, no one can handle five baby nations who were supposed to be taking care of them in the first place! LadSea.


Oh, he couldn't _wait _to try this one.

According to Norway's spellbook, this spell- the age-reversing spell- was exactly what he was looking for. He'd been rather nostalgic the last few weeks, looking through old pictures of Iceland, old clothes, and the younger nation's old Norwegian notebook, sniggering every once in a while when he saw something spelled in Icelandic instead. The boy had never really gotten away from spelling _Norge _as _Noregur_...

He slammed shut the spellbook and got up from the couch, wandering a little until he spotted Iceland and the other Nordics in the kitchen awaiting breakfast. Finland was the first to look up, and he smiled as Norway walked in. "Moi, Norja," he said happily. "Do you mind getting Sealand and Ladonia down here?" Norway shook his head. "Of course," he murmured. "Let me just try something first..."

Iceland looks up from his math textbook and frowns. "What is it?" His brother is gazing intently at him. "If it's another plot to make me call you big brother, I swear I'll... Norway?" Norway is mumbling something under his breath, and Iceland catches things that sound like _turn back time _and _give it back _inside all that other gibberish.

And suddenly, everything around him is growing- or is he shrinking? Everyone else in the room is shrinking with him, though, even Denmark, whose yell of _What the hell is Norway doing _is getting higher and higher pitched, and suddenly Iceland has no clue what the word _Norway _even means, and even Sweden, who had been glaring at Norway all this time, isn't sure; he only knows that the floor he's crawling on is cold, and that he wants to give Finland a hug...

It's backfired, and even the caster is too young, now, to comprehend that.

* * *

"Ladonia. Bro. Up."

Ladonia groaned and sat up; Sealand had been yelling at him and shaking him for the past half an hour. His auburn hair pokes up above the blanket and he wearily opens his eyes as the blanket falls forward off of him. "What?" he responds, irritated. Sealand grins, his giant eyebrows raising about half an inch as the English micronation laughs in such a way that the Swedish one wants to rip those hairy caterpillars right off his face. "Time for school, remember? I smell pancakes, and you know how good Momma's pancakes are..." Ladonia scowls at him. "He's your mother, not mine, you idiot. I'm not part of Sweden," he snaps.

Sealand shrugs. "I'm not part of England, but he's still my brother. Not saying that Papa Sweden's your brother. He's your dad, no matter how much you hate it." Ladonia snorted, getting out of bed and walking to the bathroom. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. Keep dreaming." He looks at himself in the mirror and decides to brush his hair like Finland has been pestering him to do for the last few weeks. He picks up his toothbrush and puts some of Sealand's spearmint toothpaste on it, brushing his teeth and then rinsing his mouth before picking up the hairbrush and running it through his messy locks before running hand over the stupid paint on his face that had, for the last few weeks, refused to come off; although it looked like a fierce battle scar the way it was, it was starting to bug him the way Finland always yammered on about how he should wash his face and get rid of it because the dog might try to lick it off or something like that...

His inner musings came to an abrupt halt when he heard a very Sealandic-sounding yell from downstairs; a yell of shock. The Swedish micronation grumbled about how Sealand had nearly made him throw the hairbrush across the room in surprise as he changed into a random shirt and jeans and ran downstairs.

"Hey, Ladonia, look, I just found them like this-" Ladonia entered the kitchen and saw, to his amazement, that all five of the Nordics had somehow been turned into little children; none of them looked older than two, and Iceland looked like he was around ten months old. Denmark stood in the middle of the room, his stubby arm trying to reach up to the counter for a can of beer. He turned to Ladonia, frowned, and pointed at it. "Want!" he protested. Sealand quickly ran forward, skirting Sweden, who was toddling rapidly towards Finland, and pulled the beer far from the little Denmark, who squealed. "No!" he yelled. "I want!"

Iceland whimpered at the loud noise and buried into Norway, who put an arm around his brother and used his free arm to pick up a nearby sponge and hurl it at the back of Denmark's head. The messy-haired Nordic stumbled and turned, yelling a mix of Danish and nonsense at Norway, who coolly threw what looked like a week-old piece of licorice at his face. It hit Denmark square in the eye and he started wailing, which made Iceland start crying softly as well...

"Ladonia! Earth to bro!" Ladonia snapped out of his trance, shut his mouth (which had been hanging wide open), and turned to Sealand, who now had Denmark on his lap. "A little help here?" Ladonia nodded and started walking over to him. "What do you want help with, exactly?" Sealand jerked his head over to the kitchen. "Pancakes," he said. "There's a stack of them in there. Give one to each of them, except Iceland. Get him some warm milk, but filter it first, we don't want any milk fat in there..." Ladonia just looked at him. "How do you know all this?" he asked, curious. Sealand grinned. "I dunno. I suppose having Finland as a momma really helps."

Ladonia raised an eyebrow. "Alright... Then..." He headed to the kitchen, where Finland was wailing something about... Wanting salmiakki... Or at least that's what he understood; the rest of it was babbled out in Finnish. Ladonia picked up the plate with the stack of pancakes on it that Sealand had pointed out, and Norway immediately glared at him in a very Swedish-looking way. "Want," he mumbled. "Lillebror want, too." Ladonia nodded. "Yeah... Here." He handed two pancakes to the little Nordic and Norway grabbed them. "Island... Lillebror..."

"I told you not to give Iceland pancakes!" Sealand yelled, and he snatches the extra pancake out of Norway's hand; the child scowls and makes a grab for it while putting a hand around Iceland, who is glaring up at Ladonia as if he'd killed the silver-haired infant's puffin. "Want," Norway yelled, and Ladonia put up a hand. "Wait," he said, a little overwhelmed. "I'll get him something else, wait, he can't..." He steps over Iceland and walks over to Sweden, who is holding a bag of salmiakki he seemed to have conjured out of nowhere. "You want a pancake?" Sweden shakes his head. "F'ny," he mutters, and pulls Finland close to him; the blonde nation squeals and tries to pull away but eventually relaxes. "Pan-caki?" he asks, looking up at the pancake in Ladonia's hands and making a pleading sort of face. "Uh, well..." The auburn-haired micronation starts, but he is confused; Sweden is glaring at him (_If looks could kill, _Ladonia thought) and Finland is looking up at him with those _if I don't get that thing I will wail in the most adorable way possible_ kind of eyes, and of course Sweden would kill him for that... "But you already ate like three bags of licorice, that's ridiculous-"

But Sealand cuts him off. "Just give it to him. Papa- Um, Sweden, yeah- he'll strangle you if you don't." Ladonia grins nervously. "He can't even reach up to my neck, though," he shoots back, but he gives Finland the pancake anyway. The little nation squeaks and tears into it as if he's starving, and Ladonia lets out a sigh of relief before heading to the fridge to get Iceland some milk. "Parenting's hard," he mumbles, and from the living room, Sealand chuckles and Denmark babbles happily. It's overwhelming, but something about taking care of 5 people who'd just been his caretakers themselves was kind of nice.

He takes a carton of milk out of the fridge- or, at least, he _thinks _it's milk, he can't read Finnish- and sniffs the contents. Smells like milk. He steps around the still-glaring Sweden and pours Iceland a glass of milk through a tea strainer he'd found in one of the drawers. "Don't forget to warm it up," Sealand says. Ladonia rolls his eyes and opens the microwave. "Yes, mother," he says sarcastically. The English boy snorts. "I'm not your mum, the one who wanted a pancake after eating all the licorice in the house is your mum." Ladonia laughs, taking the milk out of the microwave and dipping a finger into it. "Yeah, keep dreaming," he snaps again. "Finland isn't my mother."

"Then who is?"

That question was unexpected; Ladonia frowns and turns to Sealand, who is standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a still-talking Denmark sitting on the counter next to him. "Well, I don't know," he mumbled, looking down at Iceland, who was looking at the cup in the micronation's hand with what looked suspiciously like the _I want _look. "Don't worry," he told the baby nation. "It's for- Hey!"

Norway yanks the cup out of Ladonia's hands and sloppily takes a sip, staring at him the entire time as if accusing him of poisoning it. After a few seconds, however, he deems it okay and pats Iceland on his side. "Want milk, lillebror?" Norway says; even at this age his voice still has the same type of emotionless lulling tone it holds when he's older. Iceland pokes the cup in the side. "Wah?" he says. "Mah!" Norway smiles (it's creepy, even now) and tips the cup at just the right angle for Iceland to drink.

Sealand chuckles. "We might get a first word outta him," he says. "Imagine Norway's face when we tell him that, after we get this sorted out..." And then it hits him. "...How are we going to get this sorted out?" Ladonia shrugs. "Dunno. Unless you call your jackass of an older- What?" Sealand is giving him a disapproving look. "First off, we are not calling _England,_" he says emphatically. "And second, watch your mouth, there are five toddlers in this room, and if Iceland's first word is 'jackass,' neither he nor Norway will ever forgive you!" When Ladonia rolls his eyes, Sealand lets out an exasperated sigh. "This might help you one day, bro!"

"I'm not your brother!" Ladonia snaps. "Stop calling me bro, it's stupid!" Sealand scowls. "Quit it, you're my brother no matter what you say, even if your pigheaded pride won't let you accept the fact that you're Sweden and Finland's other son!" Ladonia is shocked into silence; he's never seen Sealand yell like this, and it's scares him. "Alright," he says, warily accepting a truce. "But you're not going to bug me about it. Deal?"

"Deal."

"Alright." Ladonia looks up at his _brother_ and cocks his head to the side. "Now what?" Sealand scoops Denmark up off the counter and smiles as he giggles. "We entertain them, somehow. Got any ideas?" Ladonia opens his mouth but the blonde micronation cuts him off again. "No Internet, or Pokemon, or anything. Something for three year olds."

"Colouring?"

Sealand laughs. "Thinking like a mother," he says. Ladonia groans. "I'm not a girl." Sealand shrugs. "Neither's Finland. Your point?"

"Nothing. Now where are the crayons?"

* * *

_My reasons:_

_1. It's cute._

_2. THERE AREN'T ENOUGH LADSEA FICS OKAI._

_Should I put up some more chapters? I might, need to work on Relapse but I might XD_

_Review?_


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